[A warning called from a prudent distance, in case he's rinsing his skivvies. Camille approaches at a leisurely pace, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a losing battle.
She's got her own mysterious missive gleaming through her chest. The teeth were in the floor. ]
Glad someone's got the right idea. We're getting ripe. [And... Well. She can't tell what any of this might mean just from looking, but she shouldn't let him walk around unawares.] Your back's got a lot to say this morning.
[ Imagine. I don't want to think about whether we got multiple pairs of underwear. This is rp fantasyland and we will have infinite skivvies if we want to.
He looks over his shoulder at first, and well. You know. It's just human nature to glance at things that stand out, so he does end up seeing that and uh
what the fuck does that mean
but it's impolite so even though he's taken aback, he looks back up at her. Uh. What'd she say? ]
...Does it now. Looks like your front does as well.
[ He's not sure he wants to ask what his says but he'll test the waters first. Also sadly what he's got looks like robe rags. ]
[Ah. So they're on even footing. That's good to know.]
If wishes were horses we'd be both be crispy and saddled up, yeah. [Camille closes the gap, pulling her sleeves over her palms.] They fade in and out though. Mind if I hide out with you until they're gone? We can mull it all over in the meantime.
[ Internally he's thinking 'crispy?' but it doesn't seem like the time for that right now. ]
I'll pass on being put in reins...
...Why not. Not that I'm doing much of anything interesting, mind you. We're just doing an overall clean of the cabin, since it's our unofficial "housing".
Awful nice of you. Do you need a hand? [She makes a grabby motion to an unwashed cloth.] I'm up in the theater. Me and my clown troupe haven't tackled our confetti and cobwebs yet.
No use fighting it. Our first order of business was to crown our clown king. [Leaning in, low voice, confidential.] Be sure to genuflect should you pass his Highness Alfyn Greengrass in the town square.
[Ah. The dog. Camille smiles and quickly gloms onto the next turn in conversation, dutifully rinsing her rag.]
Well that's mighty kind of you. What a gentleman. I may take you up on that if you're not careful.
[Where should she begin. Camille pauses. Then wrings the cloth the other way, squeezing doubly hard.]
Last year I was asked to return to my hometown by my newspaper. A little girl was murdered a year prior, and another went missing a day or two ago. When I get down there, I have to stay with my family, including a sister twenty years my junior who I barely knew and couldn't recognize.
On my second day there the other girl turned up dead in an alley. All her teeth were pulled out. Turned out the last girl had the same thing done to her.
[She grins bitterly at the stream. Unwinds the rag, shakes it, and puts it on the clean pile.]
Long story short, they pin the crime on my mother. I take custody of baby sister, I take baby sister to Chicago with me, along with her replica dollhouse built to match our Southern plantation maison.
She makes a friend. Friends pisses her off. Then the friend goes missing. They find her dead, also missing six teeth.
[Now her fingers are crooked in into the taut stretch of her jeans. Painful pressure points just above the knee. Nowhere near satisfactory. But safe.]
I ripped the house apart and found the teeth, broken in bits to mould the ivory floor of my estranged mother's tiny doll bedroom. I called the cops on her and had to let them haul her off.
She's incarcerated now. Will be for a long time, even if she's only 14.
[ He's silent for a little while, listening with mounting illness in the small of his gut.
Camille already said the sister was a baby, twenty years her younger -- and yet, the reiteration of this kid being only fourteen really drives it all in.
After a moment, he wipes his hands dry on the thighs of his pants and then carefully, slowly reaches for her wrist, a soft placement of his hand over it if Camille lets him to get her to ease off. ]
Hey, easy...
It sounds like you had a traumatic experience. I'm sorry for that.
THEY WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU it is safe to slep ((cw: self harm))
[She tenses at the touch, looking down. Her sleeve hasn't ridden up.
But he might feel it through the shirt regardless. Raised skin. Hacksawed lines all under his palm and fingers, the pattern of which may be hard to discern.]
...I've had time to think it over. I'm better about it now. Sober, too.
I'll go for a rather plain sharing rather than embellishments... I think we could both do just fine without me trying my "best shot".
[ He sighs... ]
...Eihner von Dutch is... was a wealthy baron in the Kingdom of Rondon. And my father-in-law. Elise, his daughter, and the woman I married.
I originally worked for them. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go... and that would have been quite fine -- but somehow, she deigned to court me, and despite me not being born into wealth whatsoever, the baron also gave us his blessings.
[ He speaks soft. It's probably the most... it's not emotional, but there's a fragile tenderness in there that he usually lacks. Those were some of the best years of his life... but it's only brief before his tone falls back to its usual register. ]
The war involved Rondon too, eventually. So I left to serve. Field medic if you're curious -- the baron taught me all I know about medicine. It let me escape the infantry... though pity on anyone who had the unfortunate experience of being looked over by me. [ It's war. It's never for good reasons if you do. ] She sent me letters, of course. They were just about the only things keeping me sane in a place like that.
...
And then they stopped. I know letters often get lost or never make their destination in a place like that, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
The war ended recently. Or at least peace talks were established, and I was permitted to return home. Obviously I returned to the manor in Rondon as fast as I humanly could.
There wasn't a single soul to be seen. No servants, no guests... I'd had half a mind that they moved while I was away. I wish that had been the case.
[ A heavy pause here, clearly unwilling to talk about it but -- Camille pushed herself pretty hard to talk, so he forces himself to too, despite the tendrils of despair edging his voice. ]
Basement. I found them dead. The baron covered in lashes and cuts. Self-inflicted.
A ritual circle, and -- Elise's body, too. I-I tried anything to bring her back.
[It plays the same beats as so many historical tragedies. The second he says he's off to war she knows the score. Either he's fucked or she is. Another man enters the picture, his troupe gets sent to some wretched fate.
But the ending still pulls the rug from under her.]
He sacrificed his own daughter?
[He had references to the occult in his profile. Maybe she should have anticipated the twist. The idea is grisly even so, and a rotten shock for a honeymooner besides.
She has questions. Many of them. But this isn't a tale she's supposed to hear, and it's certainly not something meant for her to pick apart. She isn't following a lead, she's hearing out a man as lost and wounded as she.
It's her turn to reach out. She takes his hand in hers, thumb brushing the knuckles. Is he still wearing the ring?]
Daan, I'm sorry. That's beyond the pale. I don't know...I don't think anyone one would know what to do in your shoes.
[ It's hard to discern his tone, probably because he himself doesn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Despair? Either way, it's an extraordinary amount of fresh grief and a clear loss of knowing what to do, how to feel about that.
Mods said I can have the ring so I can fully consider my options but given what his canon is like he's probably taken it off. It's not on his hand right now. She might be able to see a thin string around his neck disappearing under his collar though, puts it there instead. ]
...
Not very long...
I guess it must be... a little over a week ago I found the bodies.
[ Having to sort out the time in his head since he's been here a few days already. Everything's been a pretty bad blur. ]
[One week. That's not nearly enough time. Her other hand comes to his back, rubbing soft between his shoulders.]
It's a wonder you're not in pieces. I couldn't...I'm so sorry Daan. Really.
[There's no ring that she can see. Maybe it's better that way. Some people prefer to keep the tethers to the dead. Others like to excise them from sight.
The string behind his collar shifts, and she wonders if maybe he's not somewhere in between the two.]
Would it help to talk more about her? Or we can drop it. Up to you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Hey.
[A warning called from a prudent distance, in case he's rinsing his skivvies. Camille approaches at a leisurely pace, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a losing battle.
She's got her own mysterious missive gleaming through her chest. The teeth were in the floor. ]
Glad someone's got the right idea. We're getting ripe. [And... Well. She can't tell what any of this might mean just from looking, but she shouldn't let him walk around unawares.] Your back's got a lot to say this morning.
no subject
He looks over his shoulder at first, and well. You know. It's just human nature to glance at things that stand out, so he does end up seeing that and uh
what the fuck does that mean
but it's impolite so even though he's taken aback, he looks back up at her. Uh. What'd she say? ]
...Does it now. Looks like your front does as well.
[ He's not sure he wants to ask what his says but he'll test the waters first. Also sadly what he's got looks like robe rags. ]
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[She looks down. Her face crumples.]
Fucking kidding me...
[Then both hands are on her head. She's looking to the sky. For guidance or maybe convenient rapture, she's not fussy.
After a long and agonizing sigh she drops hands and eyes alike, meeting his gaze dead on.]
We could talk about it. Take turns. Or ignore it. Your pick. [She grimaces.] You've got two von Dutches and a "fate", if that helps any.
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But he seems to forcibly pull that down, easing. ]
...Your first suggestion doesn't sound very convincing when you looked for a second like you were wishing lightning would come down from the sky.
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If wishes were horses we'd be both be crispy and saddled up, yeah. [Camille closes the gap, pulling her sleeves over her palms.] They fade in and out though. Mind if I hide out with you until they're gone? We can mull it all over in the meantime.
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I'll pass on being put in reins...
...Why not. Not that I'm doing much of anything interesting, mind you. We're just doing an overall clean of the cabin, since it's our unofficial "housing".
no subject
I meant — nevermind. Local turn of phrase.
[Anyway.]
Awful nice of you. Do you need a hand? [She makes a grabby motion to an unwashed cloth.] I'm up in the theater. Me and my clown troupe haven't tackled our confetti and cobwebs yet.
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[ Sure, he'll hand her a cloth. He wouldn't normally make her but he suspects she'd like the distraction and busywork just as much. ]
We're pretty crowded in there... eight and a dog. Everyone's pretty eager to get the place livable though, so I think we're alright.
Could help you with yours, though. I remember finding a lot of things in there last I looked. All those rotten balloons.
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[Ah. The dog. Camille smiles and quickly gloms onto the next turn in conversation, dutifully rinsing her rag.]
Well that's mighty kind of you. What a gentleman. I may take you up on that if you're not careful.
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Sure... I'll be sure to take the knee.
[ Apparently Karma is mad he didn't get to be king is all I know about this chaos. ]
It's something to do, and the more your quarters are clean and organised, the more at ease people might be. Think we could all use that right now.
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[She swirls the rag in the water, pulling it out. Wringing firmly. The silence takes over and they can listen to the wind sing balefully overhead.
At last, she murmurs.]
You think maybe confessing our sins might make the writing go away?
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[ Not. Gonna lie. The fucking teeth statement was so wack even for his canon standards that he WILL low-key think about it for a while.
That being said he doesn't really want to talk about his deal that much. But. ]
...
Are you religious? Just wondering.
...
I don't know, but I suppose anything is worth a shot these days.
no subject
In the small town South, everyone's religious. Even when they aren't.
[She gets it though. She's had some time to at least ease her demons, untackled though they may be. His may be more recent. Maybe more ferocious.]
If it makes you feel better I can go first.
no subject
[ They have fantasy Italy and it is as religious as the actual Italy. ]
...Sure. If you don't mind. Gives me time to figure out where to begin.
bro do you even sleep ((also huge spoilers for Sharp Objects MYSTERY))
[Where should she begin. Camille pauses. Then wrings the cloth the other way, squeezing doubly hard.]
Last year I was asked to return to my hometown by my newspaper. A little girl was murdered a year prior, and another went missing a day or two ago. When I get down there, I have to stay with my family, including a sister twenty years my junior who I barely knew and couldn't recognize.
On my second day there the other girl turned up dead in an alley. All her teeth were pulled out. Turned out the last girl had the same thing done to her.
STOP IT'S ONLY 130
His expression is sober, a mild grimace as she talks about the murder of a young girl. Unpleasant, that... ]
...And you... found them?
CHLOROFORMS YOU ANYWAY
[She grins bitterly at the stream. Unwinds the rag, shakes it, and puts it on the clean pile.]
Long story short, they pin the crime on my mother. I take custody of baby sister, I take baby sister to Chicago with me, along with her replica dollhouse built to match our Southern plantation maison.
She makes a friend. Friends pisses her off. Then the friend goes missing. They find her dead, also missing six teeth.
[Now her fingers are crooked in into the taut stretch of her jeans. Painful pressure points just above the knee. Nowhere near satisfactory. But safe.]
I ripped the house apart and found the teeth, broken in bits to mould the ivory floor of my estranged mother's tiny doll bedroom. I called the cops on her and had to let them haul her off.
She's incarcerated now. Will be for a long time, even if she's only 14.
MY KABBY TAGS
Camille already said the sister was a baby, twenty years her younger -- and yet, the reiteration of this kid being only fourteen really drives it all in.
After a moment, he wipes his hands dry on the thighs of his pants and then carefully, slowly reaches for her wrist, a soft placement of his hand over it if Camille lets him to get her to ease off. ]
Hey, easy...
It sounds like you had a traumatic experience. I'm sorry for that.
THEY WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU it is safe to slep ((cw: self harm))
But he might feel it through the shirt regardless. Raised skin. Hacksawed lines all under his palm and fingers, the pattern of which may be hard to discern.]
...I've had time to think it over. I'm better about it now. Sober, too.
this comment header takes me out
He leaves his hand there, quiet. ]
...The von Dutches... they're dead.
In a rather... dark way.
Are you fine with hearing that?
I remembered last minute
Hit me with your best shot. I'll be fine.
no subject
I'll go for a rather plain sharing rather than embellishments... I think we could both do just fine without me trying my "best shot".
[ He sighs... ]
...Eihner von Dutch is... was a wealthy baron in the Kingdom of Rondon. And my father-in-law. Elise, his daughter, and the woman I married.
I originally worked for them. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go... and that would have been quite fine -- but somehow, she deigned to court me, and despite me not being born into wealth whatsoever, the baron also gave us his blessings.
[ He speaks soft. It's probably the most... it's not emotional, but there's a fragile tenderness in there that he usually lacks. Those were some of the best years of his life... but it's only brief before his tone falls back to its usual register. ]
The war involved Rondon too, eventually. So I left to serve. Field medic if you're curious -- the baron taught me all I know about medicine. It let me escape the infantry... though pity on anyone who had the unfortunate experience of being looked over by me. [ It's war. It's never for good reasons if you do. ] She sent me letters, of course. They were just about the only things keeping me sane in a place like that.
...
And then they stopped. I know letters often get lost or never make their destination in a place like that, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
The war ended recently. Or at least peace talks were established, and I was permitted to return home. Obviously I returned to the manor in Rondon as fast as I humanly could.
There wasn't a single soul to be seen. No servants, no guests... I'd had half a mind that they moved while I was away. I wish that had been the case.
[ A heavy pause here, clearly unwilling to talk about it but -- Camille pushed herself pretty hard to talk, so he forces himself to too, despite the tendrils of despair edging his voice. ]
Basement. I found them dead. The baron covered in lashes and cuts. Self-inflicted.
A ritual circle, and -- Elise's body, too. I-I tried anything to bring her back.
no subject
But the ending still pulls the rug from under her.]
He sacrificed his own daughter?
[He had references to the occult in his profile. Maybe she should have anticipated the twist. The idea is grisly even so, and a rotten shock for a honeymooner besides.
She has questions. Many of them. But this isn't a tale she's supposed to hear, and it's certainly not something meant for her to pick apart. She isn't following a lead, she's hearing out a man as lost and wounded as she.
It's her turn to reach out. She takes his hand in hers, thumb brushing the knuckles. Is he still wearing the ring?]
Daan, I'm sorry. That's beyond the pale. I don't know...I don't think anyone one would know what to do in your shoes.
How long ago was this?
no subject
[ It's hard to discern his tone, probably because he himself doesn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Despair? Either way, it's an extraordinary amount of fresh grief and a clear loss of knowing what to do, how to feel about that.
Mods said I can have the ring so I can fully consider my options but given what his canon is like he's probably taken it off. It's not on his hand right now. She might be able to see a thin string around his neck disappearing under his collar though, puts it there instead. ]
...
Not very long...
I guess it must be... a little over a week ago I found the bodies.
[ Having to sort out the time in his head since he's been here a few days already. Everything's been a pretty bad blur. ]
no subject
[One week. That's not nearly enough time. Her other hand comes to his back, rubbing soft between his shoulders.]
It's a wonder you're not in pieces. I couldn't...I'm so sorry Daan. Really.
[There's no ring that she can see. Maybe it's better that way. Some people prefer to keep the tethers to the dead. Others like to excise them from sight.
The string behind his collar shifts, and she wonders if maybe he's not somewhere in between the two.]
Would it help to talk more about her? Or we can drop it. Up to you.
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